


Name Day

by poselikeateam



Series: No One's Cisgender in LazyTown [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Dysphoria, Elf Culture, Elves, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This On My Phone, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Sportacus, Tumblr Prompt, first fic, no ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: An Elf's Name Day was one of the most important in their long lives. Sportacus comes of age and learns to accept himself as he was always meant to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first LazyTown fic. I had the idea that both Sportacus and Robbie are trans, but Sportacus has had top surgery and Robbie still binds, partly because I saw a really good drawing of Robbie in a binder, partly because of how difficult it is for me to exercise because of my own dysphoria. Then someone made a post about Trans Sportacus and I don't know, my fingers slipped. I'm going along with the "Sportacus' True Name is Tryggvi" trope, which I like a lot. His mom's name is Alva because I'm lazy. 
> 
> Anyway though I really hope you enjoy this!

An Elf’s Name Day was one of the most important in their long lives. For the first ten years, they were taught, and learned, and grew, and on the tenth anniversary of their birth month, each Elf would finally have a Name. Until then, each was called by their matronymic, or patronymic, depending on family traditions.

It was nearly Alvasdóttir’s name day, and instead of the usual excitement her peers felt, she was distraught. She - no, he, he could call himself what he was when he was alone - he was terrified of having to live out the centuries with a woman’s name. Once a Name was granted, it was sealed. Everyone would see him as a woman, forever and ever.

The thought made him sick.

Still, here he was, dressed in his best tunic with a flower crown, washed in the spring and ready _(not ready, never ready, please don’t make me–)_ to take on his Name, to be Known forever as what he was. What she was.

 _ **“Alvasdóttir!”**_ the voice rang out, like shimmering light, washing over his (her, her, her) ears. The elf was numb, and obediently moved forward.

As the young elf stepped onto the dais, ringed in golden sunlight, magic swirled around the dais and the Elfling within. He heard a voice in his head whisper, _“Tryggvi.”_ His eyes flew open. They were all looking at him, watching–

 _ **“Tryggvi Íþrósson,”**_ he was announced, and overcome with emotion, he fell to his knees.

—

“Tryggvi?” his father called, some years later.

“Yes, Pabbi?”

His father was a man of few words when it came to important matters. Sitting next to his son, he said, “I’m worried about you.”

Tryggvi knew why. He was a Sports Elf, like his father, but despite his pent-up energy he rarely moved anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said, simply.

“What’s wrong? Are you ill? Should I take you to a Healer?” his father asked, caring in that forceful, no-nonsense way of his.

“No, I…” he paused, struggling with the words. Finally, he lifted his loose shirt and showed his father the makeshift bindings and red, irritated skin around it. “I can’t move like this. I’m… out of breath all the time, and it hurts, but I can’t go without it.” It came rushing out of him, like a dam breaking. “I want to run and jump and play with the other boys, but I’m not like the other boys! They don’t have to worry about the things that I do, about… about developing parts they shouldn’t have.” He hung his head, red-faced with shame. “I am a mistake,” he finally ground out.

His father slapped him across the face.

“Damn it, Tryggvi,” he said, and Tryggvi was shocked into silence. “You’re not a mistake, you’re my son, and an idiot son at that. Get up and come with me.”

“W-where are we going?” he asked, standing to follow on shaky legs.

“I’m taking you to a Healer,” replied his father. “Clearly you have something that is impeding your movement and affecting your health, and we are going to get it removed.”

All he could do was follow, shocked and numb.

—

“Sportacus,” his father said, clapping him on the back with a warm smile. “A good name.”

Sportacus smiled back, almost unable to believe that this was happening. As soon as the “growths” on his chest had been removed, and he had healed from it, he began to exercise more than any boy his age, as if making up for lost time. His physical prowess, his naturally kind and friendly personality, and his love of helping others led him to become the tenth Numbered, following after his own father. Years of training had finally gotten him to this point, and he couldn’t be prouder.

When one was given a Number, they were to choose a new name - their True Name was a secret that was not to be trusted to humans.

“You know,” his father said, “your mother thinks it’s too early for you to be assigned. You’re still her baby. Might want to be careful when saying goodbye.”

Sportacus grinned, though it was a bit sad. He would miss his family, and his home, but this was what he was born to do! He could still write home. He had come so far, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come say hi, my LazyTown tumblr is robbies-meme-team! The original is there, too


End file.
